


Two years

by gianta



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gianta/pseuds/gianta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully and Skinner spend two years locked together in a tiny room. How will they cope with their imprisonment and with each other? Mulder is not with them, but he still plays an important part</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characthers. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

I woke up with a pounding headache, feeling dizzy and disoriented. It wasn’t my bed, but I couldn’t figure out where I was. I tried to get up but the room suddenly flew around me.  
“Easy Dana,” someone told me, catching me with his strong hands, as I emptied my stomach contents all over his shirt.   
“Skinner?” I said when I realized that I was looking at my former boss: “What’s going on? Where are we?”  
“I… don’t know,” he said, looking at me worriedly: “Are you ok?”  
“Yes,” I whispered, ashamed: “I’m sorry about that,” I added, looking at his shirt. I was lost, confused and I just threw up on my boss. Must be my lucky day!  
“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged and, apparently assuming it was safe to let me go, he got up and went over to the tiny sink. He busied himself with washing my lunch from his shirt, giving me time to look around our, I was guessing, prison. The room was so small you could barely turn around. There was a small toilet next to the sink, some newspapers on the floor and dirty old bed I was still sitting on. Locked door, no windows. Nothing else.  
I got up and picked up a random newspaper. It was in a foreign language.  
“Croatian,” Skinner said, turning back to me: “I think we are in Croatia.”  
I just stared at him, speechless. I tried to remember what happened, how we got here, but I couldn’t. I tried to remember when was the last time I saw Skinner, but I couldn’t do that either. So I tried to remember anything else that would make any sense at all. I was a doctor. I didn’t work on the X files anymore. I didn’t work for Skinner for years. I didn’t work with Mulder either, not even been sleeping with him anymore! How the hell did I end up in the X file again? In Croatia??? Seriously? And how on earth does Skinner recognize Croatian language?   
“What is he up to now?” Skinner asked me, apparently reading my thoughts.  
“I don’t know if he’s up to anything, Sir,” I replied: “I haven’t seen him in months.”  
He didn’t answer. We just stared at each other, trying to fill the gaps between us that we didn’t want to discuss. Finally, he broke the silence: “If anybody can find us, it’s him. He will never give up on you Scully.”  
I just nodded. Skinner was right and I had nothing to add. Mulder was probably already risking his life for me before I even regained consciousness. He won’t give up on me. Even though I gave up on him…


	2. First day

“They must have drugged us,” I told Scully: “I came to before you, while they still carried us here. I felt too nauseous to try and fight them, but I overheard them talking. They were just making sure that the landing to Croatia went smoothly, nothing about reasons for our kidnapping.”  
We discussed it a little further but weren’t able to come up with any clues to our position whatsoever. Finally, I sat on the bed next to her and we spent a few minutes in awkward silence.  
“You know, Scully,” I spoke again: “If the circumstances were different, I would be really glad to see you.”  
“Me too, sir,” she answered.  
I looked around the room for the thousandth time. And for the thousandth time, the room didn’t change. It didn’t grow bigger. Another bed or shower or bathroom door didn’t appear out of nowhere. Windows didn’t start to grow on the walls. Scully didn’t magically fly away to safety, to Mulder’s arms... She was still sitting on the bed next to me, looking as annoyed as I felt. I started to worry about her, having to share everything with me, without any possibility of privacy. It wasn’t a place for a woman, not even a strong woman like her.   
Maybe they did it to break me. If they know anything about me they should be aware that I don’t give a damn about my own life, but I do about this woman’s. I can handle rotting in a cell, but not watching her rot. How long were we to be kept in here? Until I loose control and rape her or something? Yeah, right, a man in my age! That plan wouldn’t work! You learn a thing or two about abstinence when you are involved with the X files. It almost seems to be a job requirement…  
They… Who are they? Who the hell took us? I had to focus on those questions, instead of contemplating sex.  
“You take the bed,” I told Scully: “I’ll just…”  
“Sleep on the floor?” she disagreed immediately: “You can’t do that! It’s too cold.”  
“Ok, we’ll take turns, how about that?”  
She just nodded in agreement.  
“You want to go first?” I offered: “I’m not really tired.”  
She nodded again and lay down, but she didn’t close her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, with a blank expression. I didn’t move from the bed since there was nothing else to sit on. I just watched her, my good old friend, sharing my fate again. My hand covered hers, almost absentmindedly, and she took it and squeezed it, without looking back at me.   
I thought about Mulder again. Does he know we are missing? What happened between Scully and him? Why aren’t they together? Why didn’t I keep in touch with them?  
“I have her, Mulder,” I thought, trying to reach him telepathically. That man believes in that kind of things. “I have her. Come and get her. Don’t worry about me, just find us and get her out of here…”


	3. Counting children, counting time

How do you count time when you don’t see the sun? Whatever was outside our door, it was almost always under artificial light, just like our cell. The door had a little opening, like a cat door, and that’s where we would get food and other items from. Not through the door and never in regular time intervals. The door was never opened, and whoever was outside never said a word to us.   
Sometimes we would get soap, more newspapers (always old ones, always in Croatian), some clothes, cigarettes, even make up or toothbrushes. Once we got paintings made by a child and I stared at those for hours, remembering Emily painting similar ones and imagining William doing the same. I even slept with those and they seemed to be bringing dreams sometimes, nightmares other times.  
My children, who I gave up on so long ago, and it still feels like yesterday. A little girl with my sister’s eyes, a girl that was never meant to be, who I couldn’t fix. I watched her die because I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore. One of the hardest decisions for a doctor is knowing when to cease a treatment, when to let the patient go, when to give up. There is always a chance for a breakthrough, a chance for a miracle, and you are always left with what-ifs. What-if somebody develops a cure tomorrow? What-if the next test results turn her chances around? What-if Mulder finds the answers? What-if I am giving up too soon? What-if I am giving up too late?  
Even as a scientist, you sometimes have only your guts to go with, and sometimes your guts leave you with wounds that will never heal.   
I could have continued to treat my daughter. I could have kept my son. I thought I was doing what was best for them, but what-if they got to William somehow after all? What-if Emily died in vain? What-if it was all a mistake?  
I counted my days without them. The worst part of my imprisonment was that I lost count. There was no way to determine whether it is day or night, and how many days or nights have passed. We started to measure time by my periods and Skinner was very sweet, always saving extra toilet paper for those days. We had deodorants and face masks, but no tampons or pads! Maybe it was better that way, because we didn’t have garbage can either, so whatever entered the room never left it. While I could flush the toilet paper, used pads I would have to keep forever.   
I didn’t want to clog the toilet since I had fantasies about flushing myself through it one day and getting my freedom that way. It wouldn’t even be as weird as some of the cases I used to work on. Besides, I was getting smaller and smaller, rapidly loosing weight. Skinner tried everything to get me to eat, but I just couldn’t. He would always offer me his share, claiming that I need it more than him, but in the end he would eat everything by himself. I loved him for it. There was no point in wasting food. Mulder would never do something like that, if I refused food, he would refuse it too. We would both starve to death and that wouldn’t do anybody any good. Skinner was more mature, he was like a father, while Mulder was just a child. One more child my gut couldn’t come up with anything better to do with than abandon and leave behind…  
We only got to about five months before I lost my periods. I forced myself to start eating after that, hoping it would return if I managed to get some weight, but whether I wasn’t fat enough or entered menopause or it was just stress, the periods never came back. For Skinner and me the time officially stopped…


	4. Protector

Dignity was the first thing to go. I was the first one not to turn away when she sat on the toilet, and it was so natural that we didn’t even notice the change. We helped each other wash in the tiny sink, without a benefit of a shower. Her periods or my erections didn’t get a second thought from either of us. We couldn’t hide our bodily functions from each other and we learned to live with it. We even started to sleep together sometimes, simply for the comfort of feeling the warmth of another human being. It wasn’t sexual. We didn’t feel it, we didn’t want it. She seemed to be the last woman on Earth, at least the last I would ever see, and yet I didn’t want her… She wasn’t mine to begin with and she certainly wasn’t mine to end with. I knew that. She didn’t.  
“If you want,” she whispered to me one morning/night/afternoon/whatever-the-hell-part-of-the-day-it-was: “If you need…”  
“No,” I pushed her arm firmly. We were laying in bed, naked, half asleep: “No I don’t! And neither do you!”   
“We are not betraying him,” she insisted.  
“Why Scully?” I asked her, knowing very well that she wouldn’t answer me. One thing she wouldn’t talk about, even after all those months, was Mulder. She made it perfectly clear that she broke up with him, but other than that I had no clue what happened between them.   
“It doesn’t matter. He is not going to find us,” she whispered, more to herself than to me: “We are in Croatia… It’s in Europe, for god’s sake! At least I think it is…”  
He found her in stranger places, but I didn’t say it. I didn’t need to say what she knew better than me.   
“Just fuck me Skinner,” she pleaded desperately: “Make me stop thinking, at least for a second… I can’t stop thinking… I can’t…”  
I pulled her in my embrace and held her while she cried, for the first time since our imprisonment. I denied her the only thing she asked of me in all that months and I felt like a jerk but I couldn’t help myself. She was so thin, so small and tiny and she didn’t separate from that damn child’s paintings. Fucking her wouldn’t only be betraying my friend, who, whatever the hell happened, was, at least in my mind, the only man for her; but it would also feel like a child abuse by this point. She even lost her period, for god’s sake!  
She thanked me the next morning-or-whatever and we never mentioned it again.  
Imprisonment wasn’t as hard for me as it was for her. It was much easier than serving in a war. I spent time exercising and learning Croatian. I didn’t know how to pronounce a single word, but after a while I managed to figure out some of the meanings. We had lots of old newspapers, some of them dating as far back as 90’s. I tried to translate what I could to Scully, but she wasn’t paying much attention to my efforts, always lost somewhere in the paintings. Still, she was a good company, the best I could ask for.   
My biggest wish was for her to somehow escape her prison. My next wish was to get rid of those paintings that triggered her pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was happening to Mulder during this time? My first fan fiction story "I believe" covers that, although the stories are not really related. Well, they are, but in a totally different context… It started with me making my own Fox Mulder and it keeps leading me to strange places… Where it ends, I have no idea…


	5. Not Mulder's Scully

“Look Scully, gummy bears!” Skinner exclaimed while examining our latest delivery: “I told you some kid has a say in feeding us here!”  
I just looked at him, not even bothering to smile. He was being too cheerful, trying too hard to pretend that our last sleeping time didn’t happen. I was still mad, at Skinner for refusing me, at myself for crying myself to sleep in his arms, at whoever decided to lock the two of us together.  
It had been so long since I’ve been with a man other than Mulder and Skinner was just my type: older, forbidden, authority figure… Not to mention him being the only man left in my life!  
Unfortunately, he also turned out to be the biggest shipper of all…  
He didn’t mention Mulder often, but he made it clear that he didn’t believe our separation could possibly be permanent. I tried to avoid talking about Mulder as much as I could, which wasn’t easy considering that he was one of the only things we had in common. Ever since I started to work with Mulder people kept asking me what I saw in him, how I could put up with him. Now they won’t stop asking why I left him. Why can’t people just mind their own fucking business?  
Ever since I met Mulder, my life has revolved around him. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. I was almost thirty and I was lost. I worked so hard to gain my medical degree and suddenly I didn’t want it anymore. Even worse, I didn’t know what I want. I tried to do what my family expected of me, but in the end I felt cheated; they told me to get a degree and pursue a career, but it didn’t make me happy; they told me I would find a good man and start a family, which didn’t happen either.   
FBI wasn’t exactly a calling, it was more of a place to run away. When they paired me with Mulder I was really excited. You want me to debunk paranormal cases? Sure thing! What could be easier? By the time it proved not to be easy at all, I was already hooked. Work was interesting and challenging and it seemed I finally found myself in it. I found a friend, too. The I-would-kill-and-die-for-you kind of friend. He called me Scully. Not Dana. Dana belonged to the past, Scully was my future. Scully was a successful woman in a man’s world. She mattered. She gained Mulder’s trust, which nobody else could. He needed her. He could hardly go through a day without calling her. He kept her busy enough to forget about loneliness and emptiness that always followed her.  
Am I talking about myself in the second person again?  
Anyway, Mulder had something that I didn’t: a goal, a purpose. I made his quest my own and it gave my life meaning. I didn’t want to think about the fact that it probably couldn’t last forever. He was my strength, he was my constant. When we lost the X files we started to share a bed instead… For years I tried to convince myself that we are happy, that our relationship is working out. He still needed me, but I didn’t need him anymore. I found myself in medicine again, I found my own purpose this time.  
Mulder will always be a part of my life, I am not denying that. A huge part of my adult life will always belong to him and only him. He was there when I had no one else. He was there when I was dying, when I was sick, when I was grieving. But he was also there when I needed to be alone, when I needed to find my own voice, to fight my private battles, when I just needed him to get away from me.   
Scully belongs to Mulder and she always will. He made her, after all. But I couldn’t be Scully anymore. I needed to be Dana. I needed to find out who she is without Mulder, without Ahab, without standing behind a powerful man. I owed her that and I owed Mulder nothing less.  
I whished Mulder could understand that. I whished Skinner could. More than that, I whished I didn’t have those whishes. If I couldn’t stop whishing for their approval, I wasn’t moving forward at all. It became perfectly clear to me after spending so many months in the cell with nothing to do but contemplate my sorry excuse for a life.   
Dana wasn’t doing well at all. Dana was still lost, frightened and confused. And Scully wasn’t around to help her anymore…


	6. Demons

I took her paintings while she slept. I tore them to little pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Even though it was seriously far fetched, I hoped she somehow wouldn’t notice they are missing.   
But she did. She started to search for them as soon as she woke up and I could see a true panic in her eyes.   
“They are gone,” I told her: “I got rid of them.”  
“Why?” she asked, looking at me with fear as if I was a shape shifter.   
“They were causing you too much pain,” I tried to explain: “It wasn’t healthy for you. Whatever you saw in them, it’s time to move on. It’s time to let it go.”  
She looked at me for a few moments, her eyes were getting wet, but not a single tear escaped.   
“Then what do I have left?” she finally asked. I opened my mouth, but she raised her hand and shook her head, dismissing my answer before it came. She sat on the floor, leaned on the wall and didn’t move for hours. I decided she just needed some time for herself and didn’t bother her, but it didn’t get better. She didn’t talk to me anymore, not even to tell me that all food tastes like sand when I tried to feed her.   
I jogged in place, did my push ups, learned a few new Croatian words, had some snacks and a frustrating attempt at showering in the sink. I slept, answered nature’s call, offered aloud my cooperation to our captors, just in case there’s something or somebody outside the door listening. I told some jokes and laughed at them myself, just in case she’s listening. I covered her with dirty blanket, waved my hands in front of her face in desperate attempt to provoke a reaction, sipped water down her neck while trying to pour it into her closed mouth…   
She just stared at nothing, consumed, hypnotized and digested by nothingness, from which I didn’t seem to be able to pull her back.  
I cursed myself for destroying the paintings, but there was nothing I could do to bring them back. Whatever they meant to her, whatever they reminded her of, they seemed to be the last thing she was holding on to. By taking them away from her I released her demons but I couldn’t help her fight them. I couldn’t even give her the reason to fight them.   
She gave up. I’ve seen that in war too many times: broken, defeated men, with empty stares, waiting for death to claim them as it kept claiming everything around them. Even those unbreakable could be broken if you found their trigger, like the damn paintings proved to be the trigger for the strongest woman I’ve ever known.   
When her father died she only took a few hours off of work to attend the funeral. She immediately went back to work after her sister’s death, or her daughter’s. Not even dying from cancer could keep her away from her job. It was her way to deal with all the unbelievably stressful and traumatic events in her life: she would bury herself in her files, autopsies, stakeouts…   
She couldn’t do that now. Work was no longer available to run to. She wasn’t only facing our current imprisonment, but probably all the other painful events from her life. Wounds that never healed finally broke free without anything to hold them back anymore, and demanded to be felt, to be dealt with. They claimed all of her in front of my eyes, grabbed her from my hands and trashed her around the dark hell of her mind, leaving me with only the empty shell of her body.  
I know a thing or two about demons. I faced mine a long time ago and being in our cell didn’t trigger much in me. But Dana was too strong for too long…


	7. The bottom

He flushed my paintings. It could’ve been William’s drawings. It could have been Emily’s. Skinner flushed my children.  
I want to kill Skinner. If I had a gun I would. If I think of a way to kill him I will, in a cold blood like I killed Donnie Pfaster.  
Do you hear that Mulder?!? I am evil after all! I am a cold blooded murderer. I am thinking about committing murder. Murder, Mulder! How do you like me now partner?  
Maybe I should rather kill myself. What do you think my lover? What would be harder for you to understand? 

Sometimes I hear him yelling at me: “Please Scully… I’m sorry Scully…” Something like that. Sometimes I don’t understand him. Maybe he’s speaking Croatian. I want to tell him that I don’t understand Croatian. I want to tell him that he is going to die. I want to tell him to fuck off. But it’s too hard to speak. It takes too much effort.   
Sometimes I’m not even sure it’s him. I don’t recognize the man pacing in front of me. I don’t know who is trying to fill my mouth with sand and blood.   
Sometimes I try to ask him why he closed the X files and separated me from Mulder. Why did you break us apart Skinner? Why did you make me leave him if you are not going to fuck me? Why did you come between us? Why didn’t you? Why do you remind me of him? Why won’t you let me forget? Why did you kill my children? Why did you kill my sister? Samantha was my sister! Or was it Melissa? Did I have two sisters? Did you kill them both, Skinner?   
But why? Why, why, why, why…   
It’s all in my head. I want to get it out but I can’t. I can’t move my lips. I forgot how to make a sound.   
I am not a baby, Skinner! Why are you spoon feeding me with bloody sand? Why are you taking my clothes off and pouring burning acid over my skin? Why can’t I feel it? Why are you wiping my tears when it is you who is crying?   
Stop asking for my forgiveness Skinner! Mulder was the only man that ever loved me and you killed him with your bare hands! It’s not something you forgive! But why did I kill him? Why didn’t you stop me? It was those tapes that we found, they made me kill him! It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do it! He was my partner! I didn’t do it! You have to forgive me! Please Skinner! Please forgive me!  
Please move your filthy ugly hands off of me! I’m not going to have sex with you to get a promotion! I don’t want a promotion! I want to stay in the X files division. I want to stay with Mulder! I never ever want to walk into that messy basement again!   
I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING TATTOO!  
Why did Mulder eat my dog? Why can’t he believe in extraterrestrial life? Why does he always insist on proofs? I don’t have a proof Mulder! I got abducted and I got pregnant Mulder! Where is my mother? She can tell you I’m alive. She gave birth to me, she made me alive! Or was it my father?  
I’m confused Mulder. Why can’t you believe? We have a daughter Mulder! She is beautiful Mulder! She drew Mr. Potato for me and Skinner flushed it in the toilet! We have a toilet Mulder. Skinner is using it. He lost my weight.   
What do I do with a toilet Mulder? What do I do with Skinner? How could you cheat on me Mulder? How could you fuck Skinner?  
They put a cancer in my neck Mulder! I cried blood Mulder! You saw me crying blood. You took my ova and made a baby and took him away. Why would you do that Mulder? I could have given birth to him! I have a fucking womb and Skinner doesn’t! Of course I would be a better choice! 

Are you real Mulder? Bill doesn’t believe in you Mulder. But I want to believe. Just give me a sign. I’m waiting for you…


	8. What would Mulder do?

Our next delivery contained only a syringe, but it came with a note: “Give this to her”. It confirmed my suspicions that someone is somehow watching us, or at least listening.   
My hands were noticeably shaking as I tried to pick up the syringe. Was it her cure? Was it her poison? Were they trying to cure her because for some reason they needed her alive or were they trying to dispose her as no longer useful?   
I held Dana’s life in my hands. Literary. I held it for hours, or it could have been just minutes, in which case those minutes lasted way too long. It didn’t matter much, because my sense of time escaped from our cell a long, long time ago. Or a long short time ago. Whatever…  
How could I inject my friend with something that may kill her? How could I not inject her with something that might cure her? How could I possibly make that decision? I was never good at making choices, not even the small ones like which tie to wear or whether to trust Mulder or Cancerman. As assistant director I always played by the book, not by my own reasoning. Rules were to be broken only if there were lives to be saved by doing it, like Mulder’s life, or Scully’s.  
Scully. How do I save you now? What would Mulder do? With that thought I went to her and pressed the syringe to her skin. That’s what he would do! Mulder would know that whatever they think they are doing, having a dead body rot in the cell with me wouldn’t be a wise act.   
Unless they were using her to break me, to make me kill her so that they could release me to live with it for the rest of my life. Why did I think of that only after injecting her? Why did I act impulsively just because Mulder would? I don’t have his instincts!  
Damn you Walter!  
I was afraid to look at her, but nothing seemed to had changed. She didn’t die. She didn’t come back to life either. She was still sitting on the pile of clothes and blankets against the wall, staring at nothing. I sat across her and waited…  
I waited.  
And waited.  
I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes she wasn’t there anymore. I jumped and turned around, immediately spotting her next to the sink before I had a chance to start panicking. She was standing. Standing! Relief washed over me as I approached her, but it was quickly replaced by a sheer horror as I came face to face with her blood, which covered her left arm and chest, while in her right arm she held a razor, the only razor we ever got, used both to shave my face and her legs. Well, she apparently had a new use for it, to cut herself.   
What happened next was very fast and very blurry in my memory. I probably lost my mind too by that point. I remember grabbing the razor from her and slapping her hard, so hard that she fell on the floor. I never hit a woman before and I never thought I would, under any circumstances. Well, never say never, I guess.  
She quickly got up and started hitting me, but I didn’t hit her back, I didn’t hit her again. I grabbed her arms and tried to calm her, but her eyes scared me, her eyes were empty and lifeless. My friend wasn’t in there.   
I want to think that I slapped her to shock her, or to bring her back from a shock, to bring her back from whatever the hell place she got stuck in, to bring her back to me. I want to believe that, but the thing is I just don’t know. I didn’t have time to think about what and why I was doing.   
Whatever the hell I brought back, it wasn’t her…  
I still didn’t think as I fell on the floor with her and stuck my tongue into her mouth. Did my tortured mind somehow come to idea to kiss her back to life? Or was it simply another part of shock treatment? Probably the last thing she, or anybody for that matter, would expect from me to do in that situation was to start a make out session.   
Apparently, I invented a new form of mouth to mouth resuscitation, which could be closer described as tongue to throat chocking. I devoured her like I was a starving lion oblivious to her struggle.   
Finally, a thought managed to penetrate my mind. It was hardly a coherent thought, hardly understandable, but somewhere in line of what-the-hell-am-I-doing. It lasted just long enough for me to loose my hold on her just long enough for her to manage to push me off of her.   
She was coughing and fighting for her breath, but I wasn’t doing much better myself. Finally, she started to cry, loud and desperate and I crawled to her and took her in embrace. Those flooding eyes, those heartbreaking sobs, that was my Scully. She was falling apart, she was fighting for life, but she was back.  
I held her and rocked with her and cried with her. We were still locked in a tiny room for all eternity, we were still broken and hopeless, but I had her back and nothing else mattered.   
“I love you,” I told her between tears. It felt strange to say those words, since I haven’t used them in a long, long time. But at the same time it felt as the only right thing to say, the only possible thing to say, the only truth that ever mattered.


	9. Sunflower seeds

“I love you, Scully,” Skinner told me and I felt safe in his arms. My arm and chest burned and my head hurt like it was going to explode, but I had a friend to hold me and I leaned completely onto his strength.   
“Dana,” I tried to tell him, but he didn’t understand me.  
“What was that?” he asked leaning closer to me, so that his ear almost touched my mouth.  
“Not Scully, Dana,” I repeated: “Don’t call me Scully.”  
“Ok, Dana,” he agreed, but he didn’t move his face away from mine. He pressed his cheek on mine instead, our tears blended together colored with my blood, and suddenly he was laughing, loud and desperately and I realized I was laughing with him.   
It may have been the end of the world, but I had a friend who loved me by my side and thus everything was alright. Fuck trying to be strong independent woman, that bullshit nearly killed me! I needed a man, this man.  
He held me for a long time. We cried until we had no more tears left, but even then we went on with dry crying until all our previous tears dried and vanished. There wasn’t anything else to do anyway, and I feared letting go of him. Without Skinner there was no other place for me to go to except that mindless devouring darkness.  
“I have a job for you,” he whispered to me after half of eternity. He got up to get our bag of sunflower seeds which he emptied on the floor. We had lots of those damn seeds since neither one of us wanted to eat them but we kept getting them delivered.   
“Count them,” Skinner said giving me the now empty bag.  
“Why?” I asked.  
“Just do it,” he said: “I’ll explain later.”  
I took the bag and started to count. It didn’t really matter why, it wasn’t like I had other plans for the day. I was in a lot of pain and I wasn’t able to think clearly, it took me forever to remember which number comes after which, but I persisted on my task as if my life depended on it. In a way, it probably did. It was a simple task, really, and a tiny bit of my pride returned which didn’t allow me to admit that I wasn’t quite up for the job.   
The whole world turned to black and white soon as I became lost for anything other than those tiny seeds. I kept loosing count so I had to start over often but it didn’t bother me. Slowly, numbers began to make sense again and they gave me focus and purpose.   
It took me a long time to get to 50 and then I stopped and stared at the seeds. Fifty seeds for fifty years of Mulder’s life. That’s how old he was when I left him. I missed his 51st birthday, I didn’t even call or send a card. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what was appropriate. He was my first long term relationship so I didn’t have much experience with “staying friends” or whatever. He was my only close friend left, so I didn’t have anybody to ask for advice. It was easier to pretend I forgot, but now I might never have a chance to see him again.  
How old is he now, anyway? How old am I? How much time had passed?  
I took 51st seed and put in my mouth. It was salty, like our first kiss… Our last kiss I couldn’t remember…  
I spat the seed and went back to counting. Thinking was dangerous, counting was safe. My cuts burned but I felt no need to make more of those. I had another distraction now. I had work to do.  
I can honestly say that counting saved my life.


	10. Chores

Soon after the syringe we received empty cigarette package. Morley’s. It was a pretty clear message about who is keeping us locked, but “why” remained unsolved. I got really furious. That thing messed with my mind almost as much as those childish paintings messed with Scully’s. Dana’s. I promised to call her Dana, and when I asked why she said because Mulder didn’t call her by her first name.  
Mulder again. The mere mention of his name meant that I should better stop asking questions. She still didn’t want to talk about him, so I talked *with* him instead, in the privacy of my mind. I kept promising him that I will keep her safe and that I wouldn’t take advantage of her, even though she clearly wanted me. It would be so easy and nice to take her in my arms and make love to her slowly and lazy, like we have all the time in the world, as we indeed did have.   
It would also be giving up. Taking Dana would mean I lost all hope of ever regaining my freedom. The only way for me to go with it would be if I was absolutely certain I would never face Mulder again. Yes, she said they are over for good, and I believed her, I respected her decision to break free from him, but in my mind I couldn’t separate those two. I resumed believing in their love simply because I had to believe in *something* in order to survive. Don’t we all?  
Dana was doing noticeably better. In my desperation I threw sunflower seeds on the floor and asked her to count them. Simple, but it worked. For a workaholic like her having chores was vital, even if they were completely useless. I went back to my AD mode and ordered her around. It worked much better than compassion. I stopped forcing her to eat and took charge of all the food instead. If she wanted to eat she had to earn it. By being a privilege, food slowly gained her interest back.   
It took me a while to remember that Mulder used to eat sunflower seeds. Counting them must have reminded her of him, but she didn’t show it. I hoped it helped her, rather than upset her. Just in case, I came up with other chores: making bed, washing clothes by hands in cold water, feeding our pet roach… I made her sing for me and even included dance in my workout routine. That made her laugh, really laugh, which was nothing short of a miracle.   
It looked like things were getting better, but then we received newspapers that crushed both of our spirits…


	11. Lost year

“Dana, look,” Skinner sighed, handing me the newspaper.  
“How many more times do I have to tell you?” I was annoyed: “I don’t care about Croatian politics from the 90’s!”  
“Except this isn’t from 90’s,” Skinner said slowly. His voice was so cold and dark that it gave me chills: “Take a look yourself.”  
I took the newspaper and searched for the date. If this was another one of his attempts to try and teach me his pidgin Croatian, it wasn’t working. The number was 5 but the name of the month looked strange: “veljača”. How the hell do you pronounce something like that?  
“This v-word, what does it mean?” I asked Skinner.  
“It’s February,” he answered: “but look at the year.”  
I looked. It was definitely two. Zero. One. And five. Five, just like the day. What could this number mean to Skinner? Why did he want me to look at it?  
“I debated whether to tell you or hide it from you,” he said heavily: “But you are not made of glass. You deserve to know.”  
What the hell? Why would he hide number five from me? Why did it upset him so? There had to be lots of fives in 90’s newspapers, too. He couldn’t have missed all of them, could he?  
Maybe it wasn’t 5 that bothered him, maybe it was another number. Two? Or zero? Maybe all of them together? What do they mean when put together?   
2015  
I still wasn’t getting it.  
2015   
Then it hit me. It was the year. The year, of course, what else. What’s so special about that year? Why is my mind working so slowly?  
Two thousand and…  
Oh my god!  
The year two thousand fifteen! The newspaper was published in February 2015. When we arrived to our cell it was 2013!   
Oh god… I looked at Skinner and he just nodded. We stared at each other at loss for words. What do you say to someone whom you’ve shared every single second of your life for the last year and a half? Or longer. Who knows how old this newspaper was. Maybe even a year or two. We had no way to find out.   
One was sure though. We lost a complete year. 2014 never happened to us. In the entire year we didn’t have a single shower, didn’t go for a walk or a run, didn’t postpone the alarm clock or washed a car. We didn’t celebrate a single birthday, went to a funeral or grocery shopping. We didn’t see the sun, nor the moon and stars. We didn’t exist for the world and yet, as far as we knew, world went on existing without us. It had to, since there was definitely someone somewhere who provided us with food and all kind of useful and useless stuff.   
Do you miss us, world?  
Silently, I returned newspaper to Skinner and just as silently he took it from me. The whole year! How did it happen? How are we even still alive?   
I sat there in a state of shock until I felt the need to bang my head at the wall. The numbness was returning but Skinner showed no interest to make me count seeds again. I decided to count them anyway, but every time I came to five I started to choke on tears and had to start over. I made lots of piles of five seeds before I managed to control my breathing and my thoughts. As the need to hurt myself finally passed, I carefully collected the seeds and sat on the bed. Skinner was still sitting on the floor and staring at the newspaper, even though his eyes looked like they don’t see anything at all. I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.   
“Do you believe in God, Skinner?” I asked him, but he didn’t reply.  
“Walter?” I asked again. He slowly turned his head towards me, looking as if he’s surprised to find me here.  
“I can’t say that I do,” he shrugged: “I can’t say that I don’t.”   
That made me smile. My sweet Skinner, always on the middle ground!   
“I think I lost my faith,” I admitted to him: “I’ve been thinking a lot and I can’t keep justifying the existence of God who would allow people to live like this.”  
“I think that’s exactly the point,” he shrugged again.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean… Do you want to read a book or watch a movie in which everybody is happy all the time, without a single worry in the world? It would be boring, Dana. We praise writers and producers who come up with interesting and intense ways to torture their characters, we never hate them for it.”  
“Because they are not real. They are just someone’s made up characters. You can’t compare them to live people who suffer for real.”  
“Why not? We are no more than made up characters to God. He made all of us, didn’t he? Maybe giving us happiness would make him bored.”  
“No. Thinking like that would make him pure evil. It wouldn’t be a loving God,”  
“I don’t think so, Dana. If anything, it makes him truly creative.”  
“And I guess that makes me a movie character, with no free will whatsoever?”  
“There’s always a free will, but it usually can’t do wonders…”  
“You are starting to sound like…”  
“Like who Dana?”  
“Never mind…”


	12. Broken man

I cut off the date from the newspaper and put it in the empty package of Morley’s. I would take it out when I wanted to talk to *him* and seeing that date would refill my rage. I was overcome with revenge, it being the only thing I could think about. I yelled at the package to let us go, I swore that I was going to kill him, that he would die a slow and horrible death. I ignored Scully whenever she tried to talk to me, growing tired of her too. I didn’t want to touch her any longer, so I stopped sleeping in the bed, staying on the floor instead.  
I was hardly able to sleep anyway. I couldn’t afford oblivion while Cancerman was still walking free. Scully told me he was dead, but I didn’t believe her. Who else would have sent us the cigarette package? He was probably laughing at us, but a whole year or even two? What was the point of keeping us alive? Why did he send the cure for Scully?  
Dana. She wanted to be called Dana. Well, fuck that! I didn’t need a damn Dana, I needed Agent Scully! If Mulder couldn’t be bothered to get us out of here, she should have been able to figure something out by now! She was the key, damn it! She had to be.  
I looked at her closely. What could they want me to do with her? I washed her and fed her and made her laugh. I did all I could to keep her alive, but what for? How could anybody call that a life worth living? He clearly didn’t want us dead, but he didn’t quite want us alive either. What could he possibly want?  
At the beginning I thought they wanted me to take advantage of her. One room, one bed? They wanted me to fuck her. Hell, she herself wanted me to fuck her! If I did that, maybe they would let me go. Maybe they would let her go. Mulder would kill me, but he would only be doing me a favor.  
With that thought, I pulled her to me and kissed her. She returned my kiss, which only annoyed me. I didn’t enjoy it, she tasted like a starving rat that just got out of toilet. I hated her for wanting me, what kind of whore would enjoy dirty broken man like I was?  
I had to do it fast, before I puke out of disgust for both her and myself. I pushed her on the bed and pinned her down with my body.  
“You don’t want to do this,” she cried but that only made me mad.  
“Shut up!” I yelled at her: “I know you want this!”  
“No! I don’t! Not anymore!”  
“Damn it Scully! We don’t have a choice! This is what he wants! This is the only way out for us!”  
“Nooo!!!” she cried as I grabbed her both arms in one of mine and held them over her head, while I used the other hand to pull off her clothes. She struggled, but she was so weak, she didn’t have a chance.  
“Juts stay still and take it. It won’t take long,” I told her but I couldn’t. I wasn’t getting hard. I was getting weak instead. My mind got clouded and she had me on my back in a second.  
“You wouldn’t rape a friend,” she told me while sitting up, and I just stared at her. She didn’t get out of bed, didn’t try to move away from me as far as possible, didn’t even avert her eyes: “You are stronger than that.”  
“How can you still see me as a friend?” I asked her, not realizing I’m crying until she reached my face to wipe my tears.  
“I don’t just see you as a friend, Walter,” she said gently: “I see you as family.”  
“There’s no way out for us, Dana,” I told her, remembering to use her name.  
“Don’t give up Walt,” she whispered leaning close to me and kissed me on the forehead: “You are burning, darling.”  
Darling???  
“How can you…” I fought for words: “After what… I’ve just…”  
“Shhh, you’re sick, you’re not thinking clearly. It’s going to be ok now. He’s here. It’s only a matter of time now.”  
“I don’t understand. Who’s here?”  
“Mulder.”  
“Dana… There’s nobody here but us.”  
“I don’t mean in this room. He’s in Croatia.”  
“How could you possibly know that?”  
“It’s that weird connection that we share. I can feel him. He’s close, Walter. He’s very close.”  
“He’s going to kill me.”  
“No, he won’t… He doesn’t need to know.”  
“I tried to rape you, Dana…”  
“But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You saved me life. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”  
“Dana…”  
“Shhh… Don’t let them come between us.”  
She lay next to me and wrapped her arms around me.  
“Let me tell you a little story,” she said: “I know you want to know why I left Mulder, but I never really was with him, not completely. He gave his hearth and soul to me, but I didn’t have much to give him. I don’t think I ever truly loved him, not as a man anyway. It wasn’t romance. It was something else, something strong and wonderful, but potentially devastating. Together we were like a fire that could warm the whole world or burn it to the ground if it wasn’t handled properly. You always knew how to handle us. I don’t think that we would come so far if it wasn’t for you.”  
“You two changed my life,” I admitted: “You opened my mind and gave me courage to stand for something greater than me. It was always amazing to witness two people coming from so different points of view, but eventually arriving at the same place.”  
“Like yin and yang,” she agreed: “We were parts of a whole. And when we lost the X files… I was so afraid of losing him too. I tried to be in love with him in order to keep him in my life, but I wasn’t pulling it off. He sensed that. I refused his marriage proposal, multiple times, and was embarrassed to introduce him to my colleagues... It made him depressed, to the point that he had to start taking medications.”  
“I’m sorry…”  
“I realized that by trying to keep him I was actually losing him. I had to let him go, for the sake of both of us.”  
“Dana…”  
“Don’t say anything. You wanted to know, and now you do. But it’s still hard for me to talk about it.”  
“I understand.”  
“That time when William was conceived… I was lonely and I invited Mulder to my bed. It was a one time thing, we never talked about it afterwards. I just asked him and he accepted. You didn’t…”  
“Dana…”  
“No, just listen to me! It never ends well when I get involved with someone. And you… You didn’t… And now… I don’t want to lose you too. I love you like a brother, Walter.”  
“And you can’t have sex with a brother.”  
“No,” she chuckled: “But… I never felt so close to my brothers as I feel to you. Whatever terrible things happened, and will still happen to us here, it also made us closer than family bonds ever could. We will always have something special because of this hell.”  
“I’m so cold, Dana…”  
“You have a fever. There’s not much I can do. Just rest. We’ll get through this.”  
With that she got up to retrieve another blanket from the floor. She covered me and returned to her place next to me. Doctor Scully was back and I felt safe in her arms.  
“Dana,” I whispered as we were falling asleep: “I love you like a brother too…”  
I could feel her smile as she embraced me just a tiny bit firmer.


	13. Doctor in charge

Skinner was getting worse, but I was getting better since taking care of him gave me something to do. I couldn’t rely on his strength anymore. It was my turn to be strong.   
His fever seemed to run forever, ha was practically boiling. I was afraid to fall sleep, for the fear of waking up next to a cooked meat instead of a human friend.   
I did what I could for his body, but no matter how bad he looked I knew his spirit was suffering more. I couldn’t do much more than sit next to him, hold his hand and will his faith to return.  
The irony of taking care for the man who tried to rape me didn’t escape me, but I wasn’t afraid of him. He didn’t have it in him to really hurt me. Even in his darkest moment his body refused to go on with it.   
In a way, I felt responsible for his condition. I didn’t make it easy for him. I was a wreck for so long and he had to take care of me like he would of a newborn baby, yet he never once complained. I tried to take advantage of him as soon as we got locked together, I wanted to use him with no regards for his feelings. Then I wanted to murder him just for destroying some worthless pictures… I used to be an FBI agent, damn it, but the whole last year or longer I acted like a spoiled child!   
No! I couldn’t let him die! I owed him more. I owed him my life as well as my, even if a bit dubious, sanity. I had to get hold of myself and find a way out. I had to do more than sit on the dirty floor and wait for Mulder.  
That’s when I remembered that somebody can hear us. They probably had a bug outside the door, since there was no way that anything could have been hidden in the room. The thought of them hearing me talk about Mulder being in Croatia made me sick, I didn’t want to endanger him too. We couldn’t accommodate another roommate, in case they catch him. I hoped they didn’t take me seriously. Why should they, after all the bullshit during my break down? There was something I needed them to take seriously, though. I needed medicine for Skinner. I needed a doctor’s equipment.   
I yelled my demands at the door, not at Skinner’s cigarette package. I flushed that thing in the toilet. He was fine before that stupid date on the newspaper. We lost a year, but in the long run one year doesn’t make that much of a difference. I couldn’t afford to keep looking back, it was time to move forward. I was determined to get us through this hell.  
They were indeed listening. I got all the medicine I wanted. I tried to ask for other stuff too, and most of my demands were met. It was bizarre. It seemed as though they wanted to help us, even though they were the reason we needed help in the first place. Whoever they might be…  
I decided to make another demand: Let us go! What did I have to loose? Even with the medical kit at my disposal, Skinner was still getting worse. He needed to get to the hospital. It was time for a game over, one way or another.   
“Let us go, damn it!” I yelled at the door, but the door didn’t open. However, I received a note. Soon, it said. Just that one word, nothing more, but I still recognized the handwriting. It gave me chills.


	14. Cancerman

I woke up to the smell of a cigarette smoke, which I hadn’t felt in a long time. Dana and I don’t smoke, crossed my mind. Cancerman?!?  
I opened my eyes, and sure as hell he was sitting next to me. I realized that I was lying in bed, but it wasn’t our bed. It was clean and soft and… My eyes hurt! There was a window and sun was shining.   
Oh my God!  
Sunlight. Fresh air. Clean sheets. I must have died and went to heaven. But wait, what is Cancerman doing in heaven?  
“You got me worried for a second,” he smiled at me: “I thought you might not make it through.”  
“Where am I?” I demanded: “Where is Dana?”  
“I sent her back to Mulder.”  
“Mulder? Where is Mulder?”  
“Oh, he’s in Croatia, too. He got too close again, so I decided to let the two of you go before he blows my cover. I distracted him for the time that it took me to deliver Scully to his friend, Lily. I would’ve left you there too, but you were very sick, so I took you to this hospital instead. Scully wasn’t able to cure you, but I provided her with what I could to keep you alive until I arranged for your transfer here.”  
“Why would you want to save my life?”  
“Why not? You and I go back a long way, my friend.”  
“I am not your friend, Spender! What kind of a person would lock up a friend?”  
“A kind of a person who wanted to keep you safe. You were a threat for the project. You came by some classified information which prompted you to start taking steps towards reopening the X files. I couldn’t allow that. My associates wanted to terminate you, but that really wasn’t necessary. I just needed you to disappear for a while, and I could do that best by keeping you with me in Croatia.”  
“Why Croatia?”  
“I heard it’s a lovely country. I have too many enemies back home, I had to go hiding as well.”  
“Why Scully? She doesn’t have anything to do with the X files, for a long time now. Why did you take her too, you son of a bitch?”  
“She’s the brain of the X files, always has been. But that’s not why. I wanted to keep her safe. She’s the key for the project.”  
“What the fuck project are you talking about?!?”  
“You’ll see soon enough. It’s already set in motion, there’s nothing you can do to prevent it, even if you had time. Which you don’t, by the way. It’s 2016 already, the final year. It’s only the matter of weeks now.”  
“2016?!?”  
“Indeed. Happy New Year, Walter!”  
With those words he put out his cigarette, gave me the last evil smile and walked away. I yelled at him to wait, but he didn’t even turn around. I tried to get up, but I got so dizzy that I almost fainted.   
I sighed and closed my eyes. None of what he said made sense, but that man never did make sense to me. 2016? I lost the whole 2 years! It looked like I gained my freedom back, but it came with another loss, not any less painful… I missed her already.  
What was the last thing I told her? I love you like a brother? At least that’s the last thing I remember telling her.  
Not a sister, a brother. Siamese twins are always the same sex. That’s what she became to me during our imprisonment, a vital part of me. Now I felt like a man whose hearth was removed from his chest, but somehow he remained alive, lying there terrified with the sudden emptiness in his chest and complete lack of heartbeats…

The End


End file.
